Page 85 of Octane

His alluring smell.

Smash.

His soft, chocolate eyes.

Smash.

His seductive voice.

Smash.

His devastating touch.

Smash.

The way he felt, buried deep inside of me.

Smash. Smash. Smash.

How safe I was, snuggled in his arms.

Smash. Smash. Smash.

I think about how, at any given moment, he could be just seven stories away from me. Yet he’s so far out of my reach.

I lose count of how many times I swing the club, and I’m not sure how long my tirade goes on for. But when Daniel bursts through the door a short while later, he finds me laying on the floor in the middle of the rubble, clutching to the golf club like it is my last breath.

He orders me to get up and give him the club. When I am finally off the floor, he gets worried that I am going to turn it on him, grabbing my wrist and squeezing until my fingers release it and it falls to the floor. He wrestles me to the ground after that, pinning me to the splintered wood and shattered glass beneath me.

He holds me in place with a shard of glass to my throat and threatens to use it on me the next time I get the urge to destroy his property.

* * *

When I wakeup the next morning, I’m surprised and irritated to see that Daniel is still here. My heart drops, thinking that yesterday’s behavior made him rethink working from home.

“Are you working from home today?” I ask him as I grab a cup of coffee.

“It’s Saturday,” he answers, not looking away from the newspaper.

Jesus, I’ve lost all track of time.

“Oh.”

I take my coffee into the living room, stepping over the rubble as I go. As therapeutic as smashing it to bits was, I can’t stand looking at it anymore. It’s like a symbol for my life, and it reflects how I felt the night Daniel forced me to come back here.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Daniel snaps, just as my butt hits the sofa. “You have a mess to clean up.”

“Where do you expect me to put all of it? In the trash can?”

“No, in the trash chute down the hall.”

Wait. What?

“Out—outside?”

My heart leaps at the thought, and I sit up straight.

See? Stockholm Syndrome.

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